


Creature's AU

by Rahn (Rahndom)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:07:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2767565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahndom/pseuds/Rahn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two ancient creatures met centuries ago and fell in love. Then they lost eachother and are forced to re-meet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eternity

It was almost amusing, to describe their first meeting in words of the human language, but they seemed appropriate for such moment, with the frozen winter wind chilling his large body and the heavy metal chains restricting his every move turning into a frigid torture device that bit into his skin mercilessly. The child approached him with calm blue eyes and pursed pink lips, skin too pale and cold to be healthy and hands so small as they ran tiny fingers over his shoulder blades.

“I thought it was jest, when he said you were here,” the child whispered in awe, his bare feet making no sound as he glided over the stone floor to reach his head. “You look uncomfortable, are you in pain?”

He growled, his breath huffing steam into the night air.

“What do you think, human child?” he said, his tongue struggling with the language he had heard his captor repeat over a century. 

“Your body is freezing, that will not do,” the child said, his fingers caressing his brow. “Will a fire make you feel better?”

He turned his head, avoiding the hand.

“A fire it is,” the child said with a small smile, quickly dumpling a barrel of thick liquid inside a large hole by his prison and stretching as far as he could to reach one of the torches lining the walls. He stared in thinly veiled amusement as the child grunted with effort, his lips pursing into a disappointed pout when his height prevented him from reaching his objective. “Damn it!”

“A child your age should not use such language,” he mocked, his tongue curling over his teeth.

The child flushed, his brows furrowing.

“I’ll have you know I’m not as young as you believe,” he said, crossing his short arms over his chest. “Will you give me a hand? I’m trying to help you get warm as well.”

He would have refused, of course, but he thought of the freezing hands over his body and the bare feet in the frosted floor and sighed, reaching with his tail to knock one of the torches into the floor and close to the child’s feet.

A wide, satisfied smile rewarded him.

“Thank you,” the babe said, taking the torch in his hands and dumping it against the liquid.

Fire burst immediately, filling the room with warmth and light and, finally, both occupants could see eachother clearly.

The boy was dressed in rich silk robes, carefully decorated, gold and silver jewelry hanged off of him and his hair was styled to perfection.

A doll, then, before a beast.

“Feeling better?” the doll asked, still too-cold hands massaging his legs. “Your joints must be in pain.”

“Better, yes,” he growled once more, moving away from the hands. The boy’s eyes widened.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I guess my hands are counterproductive for your recovery.”

He kept his silence for half an hour, eyeing the child as he sat by the fire morosely.

“You know this place well enough,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “You must know why am I here?”

The child nodded slowly, his dark hair covering his eyes.

“You are here for the same reason I was brought here in the first place. Master wants to test you, play with your blood until he discovers the secret of your longevity,” he child whispered into the night, his hands tight. “If you are lucky he will not find another purpose for you and will murder you when he is through.”

“Another purpose?” he asked. “My longevity?”

“Master is scared of death, he wants to fight it will all his might,” the child explained. “He wants the secret of your immortality as he once tried to gain the secret of mine.” With a sad smile, the child turned to him once more, his hands curling over the inscriptions in his bracelets.

“I told you I am not as young as I look.”

The creature moved forward as much as his restrains allowed him, a claw reaching for the child.

“You are a prisoner as well, then,” he asked.

The child nodded.

“I was sixteen when the disease hit me,” he explained, his cold hands curling over the offered claw. “Two hundred and fifteen years old when the master cursed me with this form for his entertainment.”

The claw twitched.

So, there were other prisoners inside the castle. One that, while free to move around was cursed to look like a doll, like a ridiculous adornment for their jail man’s amusement. How sick, humans were, really, and for what? For eternity? The disgusting notion of no time to live was something that his elder had warned him about when he was just a child himself, but he had never believed such nonsense before.

And today.

“To me, even at two hundred you are still a child,“ he said honestly, his face nonchalant. The child stared at him, eyes wide and cheeks flushing.

“Thank you,” he whispered, finally crawling from his kneeling position by the fire towards the chained creature, snuggling into his leg. “Do you have a name?”

“None that your human tongue can pronounce without turning itself backwards,” he replied, shivering at the cold body but without making any other move to get away. “Your master calls me Tame.”

“Tame,” the child replied, a small smile blossoming in his face. “And here I  thought I was the only one with an unfortunate name.”

“I don’t seem to understand,” the creature frowned.

“He calls you Tame,” the child said, his hands reaching for the creature’s face. “He calls me Doll.”

“It does sound line the same word,” he huffed. “Humans lack originality.”

He rested his head near the child and closed his eyes, enjoying the childish laughter that erupted from such a small form. It was maybe his instinct, telling him that the young had to be protected for the good of further generations, maybe it was the fear of finding himself at the brink of death and knowing he had no way of rescuing himself, maybe he was the loneliness of centuries that had finally caught up to him, but for once in his ancient life he found out he liked the company, and that he would do all in his power to protect the child sitting fearlessly by his side, to protect that small, secretive smile.

———-

The furtive visits repeated themselves for the following year, each time, the child would bring him something to eat, something to keep him warm and a story from the outside of his cell. Stories of bravery, stories of human achievement, stories of the other creatures prisoners inside the lair, of how they lived, how they loved, before they were destroyed by the ‘masters’ quest.

Sometimes the child would cry for them, tears of ruby-red blood rolling down his cheeks in ways it only stained his pale, moonlight colored skin. Tame would listen to him and nuzzle his head with his snout, purring comfort in his own tongue and singing songs almost forgotten in time.

The child would usually fall asleep on top of his nose, his hands clinging to him for dear life.

He let him, as he let him do everything else.

“What’s the nature of your captivity?” he asked one evening as the child patiently cut a boar into smaller parts for his consumption.

“I am bound to master until his heart stops beating,” the child replied, shaking his head as he ripped the head off. “Clever man knows he will be immortal and wants me as his doll for a companion.”

The creature frowned, obediently opening his mouth when the child offered each morsel.

“He fed me some of your flesh the other night, you know?” he commented, glistening blue eyes piercing his own. “He said he took it from your hide last night, while he put you to sleep.”

The creature blinked, he had noticed the wizard cutting into his flesh, as he usually did, but hadn’t bothered to move, as he had healed by the coming dawn.

“Did you enjoy it?” he asked, his gruff voice doing nothing to hide his amusement.

The child smiled.

“I only enjoy what is willingly given to me,” he replied, hands crushing the animal’s bones. Thoughtful little creature, his child was.

“Then I will share more of it once we are free,” Tame said. “And I will take some of yours, you will be a part of me and I will be a part of you, forever.”

“Once we are free,” the child repeated forlornly. “I wonder if that day will ever come.”

“It will,” the creature growled, poking the smaller body gently with a claw. “Human have foolishly tried to harness your kind and my own for centuries and failed. This wisp of a wizard will not succeed either.”

“May the goddess hear you,” the child whispered, snuggling into the claw. “I miss the world of the north so much. When we are free I will take you there to see the world of my childhood.”

“And will you give me a human name to call out?” the creature teased, his grin revealing his enormous fangs.

“I will give you a human name for people to call, for me to pronounce,” the boy said then, nodding. “Now eat your diner before master realizes I am gone.”

The creature ate, not because he needed the food, but because he enjoyed his child’s pouts whenever he complained about his hunters’ skills and how he had damaged the kill as he dragged it inside.

———-

Their wish came upon them quicker than they had expected as the wizard found them as the sun fell over the horizon, his maddened eyes glaring as the child curled into his leg in his sleep.

“So, this is where my little love has hidden, hasn’t he?” the human hissed, his face might have been handsome under most creatures’ standards but to him, the man looked far more disgusting than anything he had faced throughout his long life.

“The child wishes for a quiet place to sleep,” the creature replied evenly, eyes locked on the wizard’s hand holding his stomach and red stain slowly spreading over the white silk of his robes. “You are hurt.”

“Nothing to be happy about, Tame one,” the man snapped, his eyes narrowing. “My beloved is to sleep with me every night; it is of course, the terms of our agreement.”

“Amazing how humans come to call a curse as an agreement,” the creature said, his claws tightening softly over the small form. “Human language is so bothersome and confusing.”

“Silence, beast,” the wizard hissed. “You are of luck tonight as I am forced to flee, otherwise I would finally silence that insolent tongue of yours.”

The human’s hands reached over the cage and towards the sleeping child, only to be met by a growl and the snapping of the creature’s massive jaw.

“You shall not touch my child,” Tame growled. “If you are to flee tonight, do so, but do not presume you will do so while in this child’s company.”

“You dare to defy me, beast?” the human growled, raising his hand.

The child’s eyes snapped open, his pale skin paling even further as his body struggled to get out of the gentle hold of the creature’s claws.

“Mas…ter…” the child whimpered. “Please… it hurts.”

“Disobedient child you are, beloved,” the man grinned, his smile twisting something inside the creature’s chest and forcing him to tighten his hold.

“Ah, please, stop!” the child cried, his shaking limbs twisting without any will of his.

“Come to me, my Doll,” the man crooned, his hands tightening in the air. It would have continued that way for most of the night, with the wizard’s curse pulling the unwilling child to him while the creature did his best to prevent such encounter while kept under the heavy chains if not for the roaring of fire from inside the castle and the shaking of the floor beneath them.

The wizard stumbled, his damaged side hitting the stone floor and splattering his blood all over the room. The child stumbled as well, his exhausted form falling limp overt he claw holding him.  The creature watched dispassionately as the floor beneath the wizard parted and crumbled, pulling the man towards an open mouth of fire. Hundreds of human voices could be finally heard crying from the outside, calling for the demise of the tyrant who had ruled their land for so long, too long.

“Little one,” the creature called, nuzzling his head. “Are you fine?”

The child hissed, his body shivering with spasms too strong for him to contain without actually hurting him, before an unnatural shriek escaped those small, pink lips and gold and silver bracelets fell from scarred arms. The stench of dark sorcery leaving the body in a disgusting black mist until only the sweating, heaving child remained.

Pale blue eyes met his under a sweat soaked mat of black hair.

“His heart has stopped,” the child whispered hoarsely. “The curse…”

“You are free, little one,” the creature replied, slowly letting go of the still weakened child. “The castle will fall, you must escape.”

“Not without you,” the child wheezed, trembling hands reaching to pull the chains without success.

“You are still too weak,” the creature growled, pushing the child away with his head. “Go before you meet your end in this hell, nothing will happen to me.”

“Don’t lie!” the child cried, draping himself over the creature’s snout. “I won’t leave you! We promised!”

 “We promised we would share flesh, child, not that you would find your death by my side!” the creature protested, shaking his head.

The child blinked his enormous eyes, staring at his dangling legs over the creature’s nose, close to his jaw.

“Bite my leg,” he said urgently. “Take it all off!”

“What?”

“Master said the power of my years can give part of me to those that ingest my body!” the child urged. “If you do, you can get out, with me!”

“Child, you don’t know what you are asking,” the creature growled, teeth securely sealed against eachother.

“It will grow back, I’m old, I told you!” the child whimpered. “I won’t move from here if you don’t! I swear over everything that I once held dear that I won’t move if you don’t do this!”

The creature locked eyes with the determined child, his brows furrowed, his lips pulling back in a snarl.

“If I am to eat your flesh in order to save myself,” he said pulling on his chains. “You are to eat of mine to heal your injury. That is the only way I will agree.”

The child smiled his usual small smile before nodding, the heat of the fire spreading over the castle was making his skin glisten like fine marble. He had to hurry.

With a resolute roar he bit into the child’s side, being careful not to cut more than one leg with his fangs – the child bit down on his lips to prevent a scream of pain, but the tightening of his small hands over the creature’s face was evidence enough – dark, stale blood flowed down his throat as he chewed on the appendage, feeling its years and power with each drop. This child was powerful indeed.

As the child fell to the floor before him, and feeling the magic of the boy’s years working, he  reached for his claws with teeth and urgency, breaking his hard skin and letting his own ancient blood flow until it had gathered enough for him to pout it inside the boy’s partially open mouth.

 

The child drank slowly, hesitantly, before a gulp of air was needed and the small body coiled in what appeared to be utter rapture. Small hands seemed to claw at the air in a desperate attempt for release while the back arched off the floor, slamming the round face to the ground, lips pulled back as eyes widened, white teeth stained in red jewel-like drops.

The creature had never in all his years witnessed something so equally distressing as it was beautiful, the rebirth of a creature into the world, his  own body tightened with the child’s essence, his wings flapped uselessly, his blood sang, and his claws reached for the child to hold, to embrace as the change enveloped them both, but before they could even touch came the darkness of oblivion and silence.

The fire enveloped them.

When he opened his eyes one more time, his child was peering at him from an older face – though not that much older, - the face he probably had before the curse took effect, still a lovely face just barely touched by the stain of human adolescence. His cold hands were caressing the creature’s face while he whispered soothing comforts into his round ear.

 

He stood with a startle, claws – no, not claws, human hands – reaching for his face, finding not his snout nor his horns, but soft skin and rounded ears, blunt fingernails carding through dark hair.

“I’m afraid to inform you my blood has given you a new form,” the child said softly, his voice deeper, lovelier to his new senses. “Just as your blood returned me to my original form.”

The creature huffed, feeling his wings and his claws and his fangs beneath his skin, ready to come out should he need them.

“It is probably for the best,” he growled, not liking his squeaky human voice. “The world has flooded with humans in the last few centuries, there is very little space for a creature like me to flourish.”

The child nodded.

“I must ask, you did say you were far older than I am,” he said embarrassedly, reaching with his arms towards the creature’s shoulders. “But you do look younger than I.”

The creature could feel his blood filling his cheeks with warmth.

“I said that your years made you younger than I,” he replied with a growl. “When I was your age I was still considered a hatchling in need of my mother’s assistance. However, if you translate your age and mine in human years, I believe I will look younger still.”

Cold fingers entwined with his own.

“You are a beautiful human, just as you were a beautiful creature,” the child said, his head resting on his weakened human shoulder. He let a smile curl his new red lips.

“You are only more beautiful as you age,” he commented. “I cannot understand what the bastard wizard thought by keeping you from reaching this figure.”

“Human perversions, I believe, considering the disease won’t let me age beyond this anyways,” the child sighed. “Plus, you only think so because you have my blood running inside of you now.”

“And you have my blood inside of you,” the creature grinned. “Does that make you a part of me, forever?”

“Until the world stops turning and we are engulfed by nothing once more,” the child replied, chuckling.

“Give me a name, then, for this human form you have created,” the beast demanded, crossing his arms over his chest – such a small chest, he hoped the years would bring him more mass – and eyeing the child with matching blue eyes.

“Master called you a Tame,” the child mussed. “I will call you Damian, for even while tamed, you still hold such an irrepressible spirit.”

“Damian,” the creature replied. “Tt, so be it.”

The child stood, his eyes glinting under the moonlight.

“Come then, Damian, let me show you my homeland in the north,” he said offering his hand to the other’s darker one.

“You have yet to tell me your name,” Damian teased. “And calling you ‘my little one only cause us trouble.”

The child flushed, shaking his head.

“I was called Timophey, a long time ago,” he said. Damian growled, his arms coming around Timophey’s waist.

“Then you shall be Tim to me, forever,” he agreed, his hold possessive. “As you are now mine for the rest of time. “

“I think…” Tim said hesitantly, his hands coming to cover Damian’s. “That I would like that. You possessive Dragon.”

“Do not lecture me on possessiveness,” Damian growled, smoke curling over his smirking lips. “You would not let me go for the world, young undead.”

“True,” Tim laughed, landing a soft kiss on his companion’s forehead.

Together they started their way north, wondering out loud what surprises the following years would bring to them.


	2. Synchrony

It is on their hundredth summer that the subtle tranquility that had marked their years together is disrupted.  Her name is Lennore and she doesn’t appear as much as she crashes into their small home with maddened eyes and a wailing red mouth. Tim is on his feet in seconds, cradling her bloodied hands into his own and shushing her gently, as if to a child, as he leads her towards the fire.

Damian watches them from his place by the window, where he is currently cutting the day’s hunt. He wants to growl at the intruder, to devour her young flesh with his fangs and to remove her stench from Tim’s skin with his tongue at the same time, but he knows such actions will not be welcomed by his child.

Tim enjoys visitors, he has learnt, and therefore will not interfere until the woman proves herself a threat.

Lennore shivers despite the heat of the fire, her head resting on Tim’s shoulder while he bites into his wrist and allows her to drink his tainted blood. Very little words are exchanged but she drinks whatever little her clenched lips can manage before she forces herself away.

“Thank you, elder,” she whispers, her arms instantly wrapping around her bony rapidly healing knees. “I have enough to regain my strength.”

“It is not your strength that concerns me, child,” Tim says gently, his slender fingers carding through her long golden hair. She is a child of the sun just as Tim is a child of the moon, and the perfection of their visage hurts Damian in ways he is too old and too tired to ruminate.

“Elder?” the woman asks, her voice faint.

“Is your heart beating, Lennore?” he comments, his hand gently caressing over her naked breasts to rest on her breast bone.

She looks away, ashamed.

“It is, liege,” she replies, eyes slowly turning red with blood tears. Damian raises an eyebrow at the sight. Tim has taught him that his kind cries their blood when they cry out of true love, the most debilitating force against the undead.

“Where is the one who holds the beating of your heart, Lennore?” Tim asks, his hands gentle as they hold the woman’s chin and force her dark blue eyes to meet his own pale ones.

“My beloved,” Lennore sighs. “My beloved has departed from this world in such a cruel manner, My Elder, she was taken from me in a human war and her spirit has left mine alone and cold.”

Tim nods, though Damian can tell by the pursing of his lips, the tightening of his eyes, that he is not pleased.

“Do rest, Lennore, I shall take care of you,” he promises, letting the woman kiss his damaged hands and rest her sweaty forehead in them.

She cries for the rest of the night.

A week passes quickly with the new addition to their household. Lennore spends most of her days walking around the forest, dazed, while Tim collects small pieces of timber and stone, hidden from view as he polishes each and every one. He doesn’t come to bed at night and won’t say a word to the woman who cries herself to sleep every coming dawn. Damian constantly asks Tim when she will be ready to leave them be. Tim only stares at him, eyes full of ancient sorrow, before he shakes his head, letting the wind play with his dark hair.

“Whenever she is ready, Damian, please be patient.”

It is by the second week that the dragon cannot resist the temptation – curious creatures they are, dragons – and decides to approach the undead woman himself, his childish face furrowed in a frown as he stalks her steps.

He finds her in a clearing by the river, her hair falling limp over her face as she lets her fingers touch the clear water.

“When will you leave,” he asks, not wasting time with pleasantries, he despises human custom and knows Tim indulges him, therefore he won’t expect any less from her.

“Soon,” Lennore replies without looking at him. “Very soon.”

He huffs.

“I thought your undead heart did beat,” he comments, approaching her. He doesn’t particularly like this part of their forest, the water is something a dragon doesn’t seek in particular, and often tends to avoid it, but it seems to bring peace to the mad undead as it has often brought peace to Tim, and therefore, he will tolerate it for now.

“It usually doesn’t,” she whispers, her lips trembling. “It was a curse placed upon us by our ungodly Father Creator, the first of our species. The one thing that will drive our souls to the great beyond without the torture, he thought, and yet…”

Damian frowns, not sure he likes the direction this conversation is taking.

“Yet?” he asks, cursing his instinctual curiosity.

“Us, the undead, have no beat to our hearts, a heart that beats is a heart that will eventually stop. And yet, with these dead hearts of ours, we are able to love as much as any creature of creation,” Lennore said, her blue eyes finally rising from the water to match his own. “However, when one of our kind finds love so profound that the world holds little meaning without it, we allow our hearts to match the beat of that special person that has allowed us to share it.”

“So, your heart beats because you found yourself in love with the living,” he wonders out loud, flinching a little when a hollow, sorrowful laugh escapes her ruby-red lips.

“Not the living, no, my Cassandra was more than a living one, she was life itself!” she whimpers, her hands curling into claws to scratch at her own face in sorrow. “Nothing in the world could compare to her smile, the sound of her breathing against my neck as she slept, the way her eyes would sparkle every time she whispered her words of love!”

Damian takes a step back, shocked by the sight of true heart break for an eternal, the madness of such despair. He has never witnessed something so terrible and its intensity frightens him.

“I made my heart beat in time to hers in order to make it stop when hers did, so I would follow her in death as I followed her in life,” Lennore cries, ruby tears staining the pale skin of her cheeks. “But the wait is so long, too long!”

Before Damian’s wide eyes, Lennore’s arms start losing substance and turn into a fine white dust to be carried by the wind, her eyes are wide with a terrible sort of anguished gratefulness as they rise up to the morning sky in prayer.

“My beloved, my mocking bird!” she calls. “Please take me with you! Please receive this retched soul that only wants to remain by your side!”

The dragon turns, ready to run towards the house to retrieve Tim, but the young undead is already by his side, pale eyes dark with sorrow.

“Go, Lennore,” he says gently, his hands meeting in front of his chest with ceremony. “Follow your beating heart into another realm, a place for you two alone.”

Lennore turns to them then, a broken smile curling her lips.

“Thank you for your company, my Liege,” she whispers. “Thank you for your patience, Elder Dragon.”

Tim holds Damian’s hand as Lennore disintegrates, the wind carrying her ashes heavenwards in a gentle flutter of sparkling white. None of them say a word.

That night Tim burns all that he has crafter out of timber and stone, figures of secret tradition he has refused to explain to the dragon. Each time wood burnt and stone cracks in the heat, he repeats an incantation in his old tongue, the tongue that curls like a song and makes him lovelier and lovelier to the world.

Once the sun rises again he is covered in ashes and bloody tear tracks mar his face, but Damian thinks he is beautiful in his sorrow nonetheless. Without a word he wraps his arms around his small waist, resting his head on the pale chest.

“She has died because her heart beat,” he says softly, afraid that his words will break this undead creature that has become his universe. Tim nods.

 “To her the world was not worth exploring without her beloved by her side,” Tim sighed, his hands caressing Damian’s still short black hair.

Silence fell between them for a moment.  

“You heart beats,” the dragon said finally, slanted eyes locking with pale moonlight ones. “You heart has beaten since before we escaped the wizard.”

Tim nods, something indescribably tender in his eyes.

“I chose for it to beat decades ago, quite before I thought we would be free, my Damian,” he answers the unasked question solemnly. “Just as Lennore had made her decision I made mine. The world is a beautiful place to me because you are in it with me. Without you, it holds no meaning.”

“I am eternal,” Damian said with a growl, his grip on Tim’s waist tightening.

“Eternal, yet not immortal,” Tim corrected with that enchanting smile of his. “Even with the prospect of your death so ephemeral and distant, I could not bear the thought of my undead soul not joining yours should you leave me.”

“I do not like it,” the dragon hisses. “I do not like the thought of you leaving your immortality, even for a single chance.”

“It is my decision, Damian, and I cannot go back on it now,” Tim whispers, kissing his lips. “Wherever your soul goes mine will follow, wherever you walk I will manage to find a way into your path. Forever.”

None say a word after that, their tongues entwine and their bodies match in their accustomed dance of passion. Tim’s reluctant acceptance that, despite his age, Damian wants to reassure himself that his undead lover will not disappear in a cloud of fine dust.

“Never leave me, beloved,” Damian hisses into the night, his fangs snug against Tim’s neck, making him arch in pleasure.

“Never,” Tim swears, his hands cradling Damian’s head.

Promises are meant to be broken and there will be no eternity for them, Damian thinks as he is restrained by four different warlock with silver staffs that prevent him from transforming, from unfolding his wings and donning his claws and fangs as he watches the wizard, the bastard of a madman that had helped their first meeting smirk to him before his whole body turns to Tim’s bound one.

“My Doll, what have you done to yourself,” he whispers, his bony fingers caressing his cheek. “How I have looked for you.”

“You…” Tim whispers in fright. “You were dead, I felt your heart stop and the curse lift.”

“Indeed, my beloved,” the man says. “But I have a way to defy death and to escape from the grasp of the ripper himself should I choose to.”

Tim shakes his head, his wide eyes reflecting his horror. Damian struggles against his captors, not caring when a blade is placed over his heart. That monster is touching his child, those disgusting hands caressing his neck and the words of the curse are spilling from his lips. He is turning his Tim into a doll once more. He cannot allow it.

The wizard stops, eyes widening under the sun. The hand holding Tim’s neck still tightens, then travels towards the pale, heaving chest.

“Your heart beats, my beloved,” he hisses, rage turning his face into that of a monster. Claw-like nails sink into Tim’s skin, making him cry out, Damian roars. “You gave your heart to the dragon, my sweet, you gave what should have been mine to that beast!”

“Let him go!” Damian roars, his hands turning into claws and his skin filling with dark red scales. One of the warlocks deepens a ceremonial dagger into his side, forcing his transformation to stop. Tim cries his name, his pale hands uselessly trying to reach him.

The wizard turns to his men, eyes wide.

“Do not kill the beast!” he orders, waving a hand. “If you do my doll will disappear with him!”

“Damian!” Tim cries, eyes solely focused on him. The wizard sneers.

“You even gave the beast a human name, beloved, a name for your love,” he hisses, hands tightening once more over Tim’s face. “Very well, if your heart cannot be mine in this earth, it shall certainly not be his either.”

The wizard’s hand turns into the sharpest steel before he plunges it into Tim’s chest, his smile only widening when his doll cries in pain. Damian continues to struggle, continues to fight, he has to save his child, his love, his Tim, he cannot move a millimeter, he has never felt so powerless in his life.

Tim’s pale body falls to the floor limply, his eyes leaking the bloody tears of his sorrow as they find Damian’s enraged ones. The wizard laughs manically, eyeing the beating red heart still clutched in his fist.

“Damian, Damian” he says over and over. “Damian, I love you.”

Damian does not respond, his body cannot hold his own weight as he watches Tim’s body spasm for a second, an eternity, before the white ivory dust he has come to fear starts rising into the air, those beautiful pale blue eyes that he has come to compare to the moon herself are the last to go, and will be forever etched in his memory.

“Such a shame, my beloved, for you to choose such a disgrace,” the wizard says into the air, before dropping the now still heart to Damian’s feet. “Enjoy eternity, you thief, for I am sure you cannot escape life like the undead do.”

As one, the wizard and the warlocks disappear an Damian finally finds himself able to move. Finally free and yet late, too late for him to do a thing but to take the still bloody heart into his hands with utmost care, to cradle it against his own chest as if trying to will it to beat once more, in synch with his own.

 “Tim…” Damian whispers, shaking his human head back and forth in denial. “Come back, come back my child, my Tim. You said forever, damn you, forever does not end just for you.”  
  


The organ does not move, a silent mockery of the life it once held.

An animalistic roar tears apart Damian’s human throat and his limbs finally shift to his original appearance, since, without Tim, the human child of his shift does not hold any appeal, without reservations, his jaw tightens over Tim’s still heart, devouring his beloved’s essence with the reverence of his ancient rites, hoping against hope there is still a way for his child to remain by his side by such act.

He continues to roar into the night, crying his pain and his own heartbreak, not even noticing when his own heart stops its continuous beating and freezes, his eyes grow stale and his voice hoarse, for there is no reason in this world for him to continue.

No reason but revenge, his instinct remind him and he stands, his tongue licking at the last residues of his Tim’s blood on his lips.

And he begins to walk.

————-

It is by the beginning of the human’s third glorious century that he manages to infiltrate himself into the Wizard’s new lair. He has travelled the world and studied the arts of all races and clans. He has learnt how to shift his appearance, to play with the human eye and to hide his age, his scent, his own power from prying eyes until he can fool the best of the watchers that he is nothing but a human child and develop as one without arousing suspicion.

He has entered into the wizard’s lair and has finally gazed upon the worthy punishment for the man’s crime. He will lead that obsession of his, The Detective, into a war of his own making, he will make the mortal slay the immortal and finally put an end to his retched existence. And as the wizard breathes his last, pitiful breaths he will grin at him, fangs and claws and remind him that once, a heart beat in perfect synchrony with his own and that the disgusting human scum took that away from him. He will cry Tim’s name as the man lays dying and the wizard will know it is a fate of his own making, retribution for his heinous crime.

But for now?

For now he has to play the eager child, the silent sociopath and dutiful son. He will earn this man’s love and lead him by the hand to his revenge.

“Come on, little D!” one of The Detective’s minions smiles at him, patting his head. “Come meet the rest of the family!”

There are two women staring curiously at him and it comes natural to him to sneer at them in disdain and ignore their obvious scrutiny. A taller young man is eyeing him and Damian can smell the stench of the Lazarus in his skin, the stench of those touched by his enemy’s magic. He will watch this one carefully, make sure he is not a traitor in disguise and act accordingly.

There are eyes staring at him from behind, intense eyes full of cunning intelligence, Damian feels them even before he turns to snarl at the newcomer, but whatever insult his clever disguise can come up with dies in his throat when his childish midnight blue eyes meet pale moonlit ones.

“Damian, is it?” the boy-man says with that painfully small smile that Damian has only seen in his dreams for centuries. “It’s a beautiful name.”

“It means to tame,” he growls, unable to help himself.

Soft laughter not unlike the most musical wind chimes fills the room and pale, slender, beautiful hands extend themselves to him in greeting.

“Yes, to tame, but never subdue, I imagine?” the boy laughs, eyes filling with light but not recognition, it doesn’t matter, Damian can stare into those eyes for all eternity and never grow tired of them.

“Never,” he replies, his hand carefully touching the pale one.

“I’m glad to hear it. I’m Tim, by the way.”

Damian stretches that beautiful hand into his own, ignoring the sudden hush that has enveloped the room and the way The Detective is staring at them both.

“Wherever your soul goes mine will follow, wherever you walk I will manage to find a way into your path,” he whispers reverently, the words that have kept him from insanity finally making an echo to escape their captivity in his ribcage.

“I’m sorry?” Tim asks, blinking.

“Nothing,” Damian says, and his own small smile curls his lips.

Inside his frozen chest, his heart starts beating once more, in synch with the rhythm of the human before him.


	3. Interlude: Encounter

He finds the fey creature in the woods and believes it a cruel apparition at first, a ghostly creation of his own insanity.

 

The creature was standing under the moon like a pale pillar of statuesque beauty, moonlight kissed blue eyes fondly meeting a doe’s as pale hands caressed it majestic neck.

 

He stared in awe as the creature whispers gently to the animal before latching his mouth to its throat, lips closing over glinting teeth. The doe keened weakly but did not struggled, not even as its knees gave out and pummeled to the ground in a graceless heap did the beast try to escape its captor, it was a humbling sight, those two.

 

Once the fey was done, mercurial eyes met his own and ruby red lips curled into a diminutive smile.

 

“Please do not hide from me,” said a soft, musical voice. “I mean you no harm.”

 

Ra’s found himself enchanted by the beauty of the creature, the way that smile transported him back to better times, times of happiness and family and warmth. The times he lived with his beloved doll by his side.

 

The mother of his child.

 

His beloved.

 

It was as if the goddess of fortune had finally forgiven him and allowed him a glimpse of the happiness to come.

 

“Thank you,” he said, approaching as the creature lit a fire and started to cut the doe’s meat.

 

“I imagine it is not usual to meet one of my kind,” the creature said, smiling. “Most humans would run away.”

 

“You don’t seem all that threatening, since you are cooking a meal for me,” Ra’s commented, smiling.

 

The creature laughed.

 

“I think it would be such a waste for the meat to rot, I can’t eat it and you are here,” he said, small hands expertly working on the carcass. “I’m Timophey.”

  
“Ra’s,” he replied, enjoying the way Timophey’s lips seemed to caress the air as he spoke.

 

“Ra’s,” he repeated. “Ra’s, the wizard.”  
  


“An alchemist, really,” he corrected, poking the meat.

 

“Will I end in a jar, Mr. Alchemist?” Timophey asked playfully. “My Sire used to say that alchemists coveted our blood and to stay away from them.”

 

“I believe I am as much of a threat to you as you are to me,” Ra’s replied thoughtfully, earning a joyous laugh from his companion.

 

“Dangerous companions in the middle of nowhere, then,” Tim agrees, hands waving in the air artistically. Ra’s can’t take his eyes off those hands, the way they seem to dance with the sunlight.

 

“Do you believe in the afterlife, Timophey?” he asks, tilting his head when the undead looks at him curiously. “For one that has been cursed without the mercy of death, your view of the afterlife must be quite fascinating.”

 

Tim laughs again, making shivers run down Ra’s spine.

 

“I don’t know about an afterlife, or the truth, really,” the boy replies. “I know what I’ve seen, what I’ve heard from priests and sages and scholars over the years and what I would like to believe happens to those who actually die.”

 

“And what would you like to believe, little one?” the man asks.

 

“I would like to believe that souls cannot be separated from those they really love, that they will do anything in their power to come back to them and to spend another lifetime caring for their beloved ones,” Tim said, eyes set on the sky. “I want to believe that one day my Dunya and my Iosyf will come back and I will know it’s them the moment we lock our eyes.”

 

“Your lovers?” Ra’s asks.

 

“My brother and sister,” Tim corrects. “They did not survive the infection and had to be put down by my maker, an act of mercy, really.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the man commented, biting into the meat and enjoying its tenderness.

 

“I’m not, I wouldn’t have liked them to live like I do,” the undead said, shrugging his shoulders. “Decades seem so far away and so close now… I don’t think humans were meant for this not-life of ours.”

 

“How old are you, then, Mr. Undead?”

 

“How old are you, Mr. Ra’s the Alchemist?”

 

They both laugh, shaking the somber air around them.

 

“I’m sixty nine,” Ra’s admits, his cheeks feeling warmer in embarrassment. Tim grins.

 

“Wow, you are still older than I am,” the undead admits. “I am fourty eight, myself, though I was infected at sixteen, as you can imagine.”

 

“Of course,” Ra’s says with a tender smile. “That or you found the most efficient goat milk in the world.”

 

“You are funny, Mr. Alchemist,” Tim says after a pause. “I’m glad I met you.”

 

“It sounds like you are saying goodbye, Mr. Undead,” Ra’s says with a frown.

 

“It’s not like I can stay with you, Ra’s,” Tim sighs. “Wherever you went I would be hunted.”

 

“I do have a mansion of my own, Timophey,” the man urged. “You could stop running from the ones you once called brothers and have a rest?”

 

“Why?”

 

Ra’s looks at his hands, at the meat still held between his fingers, then his eyes turn to the man-child still sitting a few passes away from him.

 

“Because I think I met you, once,” he explains finally. “And because the life of an Alchemist is as lonely as the not-life of an undead. And I am also glad I found you.”

 

Timophey stares at him, moonlight colored eyes unreadable, before his smile curls his lips once more.

 

“Where to, Mr. Alchemist?”

 

The smile in Ra’s face convinces Tim he has made the right choice, despite his Maker’s warnings of deceptive humans and their resources.

 

He will come to regret his choice only a few years later. 


	4. Interlude: Russian Princess.

Damian is walking around the city with Grayson, looking for a birthday present for Timothy and pretending he does not enjoy the human’s joyous presence as he tries to think what this new, mortal Timophey might like when his eyes catch a reflection of red and white and gold glinting against the artificial light that makes him stop on the spot.

He blinks, his face losing for a moment the childish pout he always forces and turning into a fond sort-of-smile.

———-

_“Damian,” Timophey said as his fingers caressed the ridge of the dragon’s snout. “Stop sulking.”_

_“I’m an ancient, child,” Damian hissed, smoke surrounding them both. “I do not sulk.”_

_Tim laughed, musical bells echoing in the winter air. His pale hands immediately warmed against the warm air leaving Damian’s jaw and then came to rest on cold, rosy cheeks._

_“I told you already,” the undead explained. “We are trying to live in harmony with the other villagers, you can’t just eat them.”_

_“The werewolf shouldn’t have gotten so close to you,” the dragon grumbled. “This creature village idea was stupid, Timophey, we should head towards the mountains on our own.”_

_And it was, Damian knew it. A small village lost in the middle of nowhere, populated by creatures of all kinds trying to hide from the slowly spreading human powers. Making use of eachother’s abilities to hide the eachother and pass as a normal shepherd’s land._

_Despite the fact that half of the population ate the goats and had to travel on foot through the snow to get new ones every week._

_But Timophey adored the community and the way they supported eachother. His little utopia, he called it, and liked to interact and learn from each and every one of the inhabitants._

_Damian?_

_He wanted to take a nap and not worry that any other bastard thought his child was a tasty treat._

_“See if I care when another one of those mutts eats you,” he grumbled, prompting Tim to laugh a little harder._

_With a huff and the shrugging of his shoulders, Damian turned his back – his whole body – at Tim, and continued with his not-sulking._

_Tim kissed his wing, still smiling, and hid his rapidly cooling hands in his pockets._

_“Okay, stay here and not-sulk, love,” he said happily. “Anya and I need to check on the travelers anyways.”_

_“Bring me something nice to eat,” Damian growled, his tense shoulders relaxing._

_“Will do!” Tim laughed, dashing towards the female banshee waiting for him over a slope._

_Damian approved of the woman, she was silent all the time and had her eye on a manticore who worked as the local blacksmith. Tim was safe with her._

_Hours later he heard from two passing Dopplegangers that Tim and Anya had stopped a group of humans from attacking a traveling merchant and that the man, in thanks, had given them some of his merchandise to replace the shredded clothing the two of them wore, and that Tim, being the good guy he was, had dragged the would-be attackers towards the abandoned castle in order to teach them a lesson._

_Bored, and quite curious, the dragon had followed the trail towards the castle only to find in his way a giggling Anya trying to cover her mouth with both bony hands who stared at him with wide blank eyes before pointing towards the tower of the castle, where a human in armor was climbing cheerfully, proclaiming his undying love to a frightened maiden._

_“Princess!” called the human, eyes full of adoration. “Do not fear for a second longer! For I will save you!”_

_The ‘princess’ laid small hands on the window, dark hair blowing at the wind._

_“Ah, really, you don’t need to,” said the princess, making Damian blink._

_“Why is Timophey wearing a dress?” he asked Anya, who just shrugged and commented that the merchant they had helped only had female clothing._

_“And he’s a good boy,” she whispered. “He didn’t want to embarrass the human.”_

_“Of course,” Damian huffed, approaching the castle and sighing as he almost stepped over the dismembered corpses of what he guessed were the robbers Tim had dragged a few hours ago? His child was so dramatic, sometimes. Must be an undead thing._

_Without waiting for an acknowledgement he sat in front of the castle, rolling his eyes as the human continued to approach his Tim._

_“I’m hungry,” he growled, claws unclenching._

_Tim looked at him, a small smile on his lips as he waved._

_“Oh, you are here,” he said simply, hands fixing his hair._

_The human, however, was another story altogether. His eyes were wide and disbelieving, his mouth hung open for a moment and his hand instantly reached for his sword._

_“BEAST!” he cried. “It is you who is holding captive this lovely maiden?”_

_Tim blinked, tilting his head adorably._

_“Um,” he tried. “I’m sorry?”_

_“Do not fear, fair maiden,” the would-be-knight cooed at him. “I have seen the corpses of the others who tried to rescue you, but I will not fail like them.”_

_“It’s not really what you think, kind sir,” Tim tried to reason, his hands in the air._

_“Oh, shush, beloved,” the man whispered. “You must be frightened by the presence of the beast. You shall not fear another minute for I will rescue you.”_

_“What is that buffoon trying to say?” Damian asked, his own head tilting to the side._

_“Ummm,” Tim whispered. “He thinks you hold me prisoner… in this tower?”_

_“Why would I keep you all alone in an abandoned castle?” Damian asked, scaly eyebrows raised. “That’s stupid.”_

_“Do not try to confuse me, beast!” the knight growled, brandishing his sword expertly. “I will free the maiden from captivity and the two of us will find out happiness in my homeland.”_

_Damian blinked._

_“And that means?” he asked._

_“I think he wants to marry me?” Tim explained, scratching his head nervously. “Umm, kind sir, it would be a little difficult for me to marry you.”_

_“Oh, why, sweet princess?” the knight asked, smiling reassuringly at Tim. “Is there another in your heart that I must steal you from?”_

_“Yes,” Tim said with a small shrug, his finger rising to the horizon where the dragon’s eyes were narrowing and his mouth curled into a snarl that bared sharp fangs. “Him.”_

_The knight’s eyes widened further, his mouth gapping as he tried to comprehend what his newly beloved was saying._

_“And another thing,” Tim continued, his smile turning sadistic. “I’m a male.”_

_The knight might have cried in outrage, he might have apologized for the confusion, he might have even accused Tim of sorcery – you never knew with the humans – but he never had the time for Damian’s jaw was closing around him with the precision of the seasoned predator he was._

_“Sorry, Mr. Knight,” Tim sighed, leaning over the window of the tower with a lazy smile. “Still hungry?”_

_“Not anymore, I ate the ones you left on the road as well,” Damian admitted, his claw picking at the sword stuck on his teeth. “Ready to go?”_

_Tim nodded, leaning against Damian’s snout as the dragon leaned into the tower._

_“My hero,” he said, arms wrapping around the creature’s jaw. “You saved me from the annoying human.”_

_“Let’s get you home, Princess,” Damian said, smirking when his undead child sat on his head, hands gently holding onto his horns. “And on the way you can explain why you decided it was a good idea wearing that.”_

_“Well, the man did insist that we would freeze to death without a proper attire,” Tim mussed. “And Anya was so excited, how was I to refuse?”_

_“Of course,” the dragon laughed, shaking his head. Tim laughed his usual musical laugh as the two of them returned to their village._

_—————-_

Damian stares at the doll staring back at him with hand-painted blue eyes and smirks. Of course the hair is not the right color and the dress is a simplified version of Timophey’s but it still brings fond memories to him and he definitely wants it.

“Grayson,” he calls, his cheeks flushing in mock embarrassment. “Is it okay if I get this while we search for Tim’s present?”

Dick turns to him, then at the doll, a confused frown marring his face.

“A Barbie Doll?” he asks in disbelief.

Damian nods.

“It looks like someone I used to know,” he admits. Dick grins mischievously.

“A special someone?” he asks, hand resting on top of Damian’s head and ruffling his hair.

“A princess,” Damian comments, his smile growing fond and loving.

“Okay, baby D,” the man agrees. “Let’s get you your princess.”

Damian follows him into the store, his smile refusing to leave his face as his heart fills with a strange, humanly ridiculous, sort of hope, that maybe his Timothy will feel a connection to the doll and might remember his days as an undead.

That he remembers the wonderful days a millennia ago where he was a princess and Damian was his knight. 


	5. Enough

Andrew can’t stop staring at the teenager jumping through the roofs of Gotham. The way those pale lips curl in excitement despite the fact that he is chasing one of the most dangerous men in the city.

He shakes his head.

Stubborn, stubborn boy.

Refusing to leave this place of existence when given the chance many of them covet.

He smiles and dives for the kill.

—-

_He enters the small house grimly, watching as a slender young man wipes the sweat from the clammy forehead of two whimpering children, his small mouth whispering sweet comfort to them as he tries to avoid touching the dark, bulbous boils that mark their otherwise pale skin._

_“Tim,” the little girl whimpers, her trembling hand holding onto his. “It’s so cold.”_

_“I know, Dunya, I’m so sorry,” he replies, his lips kissing her fingers._

_The little boy turns to him, feverish eyes as wide as his tired and toothless smile._

_“Tim, brother,” he whispers. “An angel came for us, just as you said.”_

_The young man, Tim, turns to him then, his eyes sorrowful and terrified._

_He needs no introduction, then, for the young man seems to know who – what – he is and what he wants._

_“The rumors were true, after all,” he whispers, going to his knees before Andrew and resting his forehead on the floor reverently. “Please, Lord Death, spare my siblings.”_

_“What would you give me in return?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He is going to do it anyway, it’s what he has been doing since the plague started. Offering merciful, painless deaths to those that cannot be saved, but the teen’s acceptance, the way he appears to have been waiting for him._

_He knows he is about to commit a crime._

_“Anything,” Tim replies, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Use me however you see fit, Lord Death, but spare my brother and sister this agony. I will walk the Earth as your child if you so wish to, forever, I swear.”_

_He nods._

————-

It is when the boy lands in an abandoned alley that he pounces, his red eyes focused on those moonlit eyes that he can still imagine the poor teen has.

“Tim,” he whispers, hands reaching for the covered shoulders.  A caped vigilante, this one has become…

How mundane.

The teen turn in surprise, amusing Andrew further.

He has been given the same name, then. How cruel destiny can be.

“Who are you?” the boy growls, his voice still soft and cold in its intensity.

“You did promise me forever, little one,”

Tim cannot even scream when the man locks gazes with him and his pale hands remove his dark cowl, he can’t move a muscle as those pale lips part to reveal gleaming fangs and razor-sharp claws size him by the arms.

He can’t utter a single sound as those fangs descend to his neck.

———-

Andrew is sitting on his favorite chair when the messenger comes in, a tightly written letter clenched in his fists.

“My Lord,” the man says, handing him the missive.

With wary curiosity, Andrew reads, his unbeating heart feeling heavier with every word.

**Lord Bennet,**

**It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you of the passing of the oldest and brightest of your children. Your child burned like the greatest of stars and became a beacon to those around him, but his heart gave out to human emotion and has met his end despite my best efforts to prevent such event.**

**My deepest condolenses on your loss and hopes for the eternal rest of his beautiful soul.**

**Yours Faithfully,**

**Ra’s Al Ghul.**

Andrew closes his eyes, feeling a single dark tear roll down his ivory cheek and spends the rest of the night staring out of the window, remembering the child he made out of loneliness, the one he couldn’t contain within his grasp. The one who left him within months of his conception to see the world, to fix all which was broken and heal all which was wounded.

His pure Timophey.

He is the only one of his children he will never regret turning.

——

When Batman finds him, Timothy is on the floor, pale skin paling further as the seconds fly over them, his breathing growing smaller and smaller as this boy loses warmth.  He cradles the smaller form in his arms tenderly – something that Andrew greatly approves of – his nose nuzzling the sweaty black hair as he carefully whispers the boy’s name.

“No, Tim,” the man of the Bat whispers over and over again. “Not you, please not you.”

Andrew wants to tell the man of the Bat that his Timothy is not dead yet, that he still has a little chance of saving his not-life, but he won’t. Timothy was always the strongest, the purest.

And he did promise Andrew he would be his child forever, his legacy of good for the world.

He leaves, sure that his newborn is in good hands and that Timophey will look for him come a century or two to demand explanations and penitence out of him.

He doesn’t mind.

They have eternity after all.

—————-

Zatanna is staring at her reflection on the mirror, tired after another demanding performance, when the phone rights to her right. Without looking her manicured hands pick the device and bring it to her ear with a flick.

“Zatanna here,” she greets, a smirk curling blood-red lips.

“Zat, it’s Dick,” she hears, making her blink.

“Dick, are you okay?” she asks, sitting straight in her chair, all vanity and leisure forgotten. Dick breathes heavily  in what she can tell is the unequivocal way he tries to hide his distress. “Dick?”

“Please, Zatanna, come to the Manor…” he begs, the trembling of his lips loud to her ears.

“Dick, what happened. Is it Bruce again?”

“No,” Dick whimpers, his breathing growing ragged. “Tim… Timmy was attacked and… please come.”

She feels the blood growing cold inside her veins, imagining what it would do to the Batman, to Gotham as a whole, if Tim of all people were to perish.

“I’m on my way, little Dick, don’t worry.”

——————-

She arrives at the Batcave in a flare of wind and smoke that is her custom. Mr. Pennyworth is waiting for her, distress coloring his face far older than she has ever seen it.

It is serious then.

“Where?” she asks, nodding to the old man.

“This way,” Alfred replies, his lips pursing  in sorrow. “Master Bruce was forced to restrain Master Timothy.”

“What?” Zatanna blinks, eyes wide. “Why?”

Alfred shakes his head, walking.

Zatanna follows, stopping only when she sees Bruce’s family to wrap her arms around Dick and running her fingers through his hair as he seeks comfort in her small shoulders. To their right the Red Hood is sitting, his face cradled in his hands, his whole frame tense. To their left Cassandra stands, her own eyes wide, hands covering her mouth to muffle her sobs. Stephanie is by her side, trying to comfort her and unable to hide her own distress, her eyes spilling crystalline tears.

Bruce is standing a few feet away, his whole attention centered on a darkened corner of the cave where a small figure seems to be walking back and forth.

No, not walking, prowling like an animal, like a graceful tiger.

Bright eyes staring back at them without a hint of recognition.

“Save him, Zatanna,” the other man whispers, voice hoarse. “I’ve tried everything in my power and I… please save him.”

“What happened,” Zatanna asks Dick, who is trying to hide his face in her clothing.

“Bruce found him in an alley,” he replies, unable to face them. “We thought he was dead at first, and we tried to revive him, gave him a blood transfusion and all but… he woke up.”

Zatanna nods, eyes turning towards the slender figure who is looking back at them, hunger evident in his inhuman eyes.

“Dunya,” Tim says, a small smile on his lips. “Dunya, don’t cry.”

Dick shivers.

“Tiamat,” he repeats, his voice turning warm and haunting. “Dunya, Iosyf, come home.”

“He has been repeating that over and over,” Stephanie informs Zatanna. “We don’t know what it means.”

“He’s spell casting,” the magician explains, frowning. “Gathering his new power to force his will on others.”

“Tim would never do that!” Batgirl protested, voice frantic.

“You have to accept that the one before you all is not Timothy any longer, he has been infected,” Zatanna explains, hands clenched. “This looks like Bennet’s handiwork.”

“Rude, witch,” Tim grins, his hands waving in the air gently, letting out little sparkles as he does. “I just want to embrace my Dunya, my Iosyf, my Tiamat.”

“Other undead?” Zatanna asks, only to turn violently when Jason stands from his seat, eyes unfocused.

“Tim?” he asks, his voice small and childish. “It’s not cold anymore, Tim.”

“I know, my Iosyf,” Tim replies, his smile gentle. “Come to me, Iosyf, let me make it better.”

Jason can’t take three steps before he is been restrained by his family and Zatanna is putting her hands on his face and chanting violently, urgency clear in her voice.

His green eyes clear.

“Wha-“ he asks, looking at Cassandra who is holding his left arm and Stephanie who is tugging on his right one. “What happened.”

“He’s hungry,” Zatanna surmises finally, shaking her head. “He will try to lure you to him.”

“Tim,” Dick whimpers, making the teen tilt his head, his smile still in place.

“No, Dunya, shh, shh, don’t cry,” he coos, stretching his arms out. “Come here, little one.”

“No,” the older man says, taking a step back.

“Stay away,” Zatanna growls, chanting.

Tim hisses, lips pulled back.

“You stay away, witch,” he snarls.

The woman turns to stare at Bruce whose eyes are wide and devoid of any hope, his hands uselessly trying to reach to his child, his son, the one who shone the brightest.

“Tim,” he whispers, defeat evident in his whole pose.

She bites her lip.

“There must be a way,” she says gently, approaching the man. “I’ll call every favor, beg every deity I know, I won’t let you lose your son, Bruce.”

He nods, turning to her for a second to express his gratitude when the sound of small, almost silent feet alert him he has just committed the greatest mistake of his life.

So worried, has the whole family been over Tim, that they never noticed the missing member of their group.

They didn’t notice, in their distress, that Tim had been calling three names over and over and, while able to restrain Jason and unable to snare Dick, they never stopped to wonder who else was he calling out to.

That is, until Damian is standing before Tim, his eyes narrowed in determination, his small hand reaching for Tim’s mouth.

“Tiamat,” Tim whispers, the back of his fingers caressing the boy’s cheek tenderly, playing with the round curve of his hear and tickling down to the tendons of his neck. Bruce tenses, takes a step forward and lunges when Tim opens his mouth once more, fangs glistening in the faint light and bites into the small wrist the younger Robin is presenting to him.

“Damian!” Bruce cries, hands grasping his son’s shoulders only to be repelled by the small boy.

“Let me, father,” the boy says, his eyes narrowed. “I know what I’m doing.”

Bruce stares in horror as Tim drinks the offered blood, eyes closing in delight for a second, two, an eternity, before he rips his mouth away and his eyes snap open with shock.

“…Damian…” he whispers, mouth red.

The child nods, eyes solemn.

“Tim,” he replies.

“What…” the teen says softly, looking around for a second before falling to his knees, hands clenching over his forehead, fingers grasping his hair tightly. “I…”

“I’m sorry,” Damian says, taking a step back.

Tim opens his mouth once more but no one will be able to know what he might have been planning of saying because a small whimper has stolen his voice, growing in intensity as he curls into a little ball, knees to his chest, arms cradling his head. Damian walks towards his father, hiding his face on the man’s side as Tim’s whimper turns into an anguished scream and noxious dark fumes are leaving his body, turning into mist and rising to the night air as he rocks back and forth.

Bruce wraps his arms around his youngest, half relieved to see him still alive and half frightened as his other child twists and cries in agony.

“What did you do,” he asks hoarsely, unable to tear his eyes from Tim’s shaking body.

“I am the Demon’s Grandson,” Damian whispers, regret deep in his voice. “The Lazarus runs in my veins.”

“You made him drink the Lazarus?” Zatanna cries, eyes wide.

“You said it yourself,” the child replied evenly. “Timothy had been infected and the Lazarus can cure everything.”

The magician bites her lips, eyes downcast.

The screaming continues for several minutes before Bruce can’t stand it any longer and he leaves his youngest child’s side to cradle the convulsing for of Tim in his arms, his voice soothing as he assures him that everything will be okay from now on, that he will never let him go. Ignoring the sting as his son’s sharpened nails scratch him, drawing blood the poor thing is too in pain to consume.

Tim’s spine straightens, so tense it looks like it’s about to snap, before he curls onto Bruce’s lap and vomits a black, disgusting slime that seems to sizzle and disappear as it touches the floor, his heaving back trembling madly.

Bruce allows it and doesn’t flinch when the filth stains his legs, he only wants to hold his child close to him and reassure himself that there is still a pulse in those slender arms, that the blood running through those pale veins has yet to stop.

After a few minutes that feel like hours to the family, Tim slumps into Bruce’s arms, his ragged breathing slowly growing calm.

Those pale moon eyes of his open finally, clear and intelligent as they have always been. Coal black tear tracks staining pale cheeks.

“…………Bruce…?” he asks, his voice a mere whispers.

The older man nods, a small smile curling his lips with relief.

“Rest, Tim,” he assures, kissing the sweaty skin. “You are safe now.”

Tim stares at him for a moment, his eyes searching something in Bruce’s deep blue ones. When he seems to find it, he rests his head into the man’s shoulder letting a long sigh escape his lips.

He is asleep within seconds.

Bruce tightens his embrace, burying his face on Tim’s sweaty black hair. Dick falls to his knees, relief evident in his face. Stephanie and Cass wrap their arms around eachother and Jason ruffles Damian’s hair, grinning.

Zatanna huffs a sigh of relief, shaking her head.

“You are one smart cookie,” she praises, smiling at the youngest Robin. “Just like your father.”

The boy flushes.

“Obviously,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, but his eyes are trained on Timothy, still resting limply in his father’s arms and how Pennyworth is trying to coax the two of them to bed.

——————

Andrew Bennet watches as Timothy makes his way into the main garden of the Manor, cloaked in darkness and walking on silent feet he stands under the moonlight as the boy approaches him. Their eyes glint the same preternatural light as they regard eachother before the boy nods to him in acknowledgement.

“Sire,” he greets solemnly, his hair blowing around him beautifully in the cool autumn breeze.

“Child,” Andrew greets back. “You have many questions.”

“Why me,” Tim asks, shaking his head. “Why bring me to your family again.”

Andrew considers the question for a moment, his eyes rising to stare at the full moon. Its beauty lost in comparison to the child standing before him, his pureness.

“You did promise forever, my child,” he says finally, shaking his head. “And such promise must be honored to maintain the eternal rest of the souls of your siblings.”

“Even if they have found their way to life, to my side?”

“They will die again, Timothy,” Andrew explains. “And when that comes to pass, I will be there to protect their passing. Your brother and sister will not die in agony, as we agreed.”

Tim nods, accepting the answer.

“Dick and Jason won’t be happy to see you,” he comments, running a hand through his hair.

“They will learn to accept the inevitable, as they always do.”

“Thank you, then, my sire,” Tim nods, bowing. “May I extend our agreement to the rest of my family?”

“If you answer an inquiry of mine, child.”

“Ask then.”

“Why the dragon?”

Tim smiles, and his whole face turns lovelier with such gesture. Petit hands raise to the boy’s chest to cover his beating heart as if the organ is his most precious treasure. To him, it most likely is, not because of its use, but for its significance.

“Because he is the owner of the beating of my heart,” he whispers reverently, eyes downcast. “Has been for over a millennia, my sire.”

“And is not pleased to see you here, Bennet,” a growl echoes in the night. Both undead turn to regard the child walking towards them, awed when the image shifts and coils from child to beast and then to man, until Damian is standing by Timothy’s side, his hand entwining pale fingers with his own.

“Ancient,” Andrew greets with a respectful bow.

“Leave, undead,” Damian growls, eyes narrowing. “Your stench is not welcomed here.”

Andrew turns to eye Timothy, who only has eyes for his beloved, before snorting faintly.

“Charming, of course,” he mutters, nodding once more to his child before disappearing in the shadows.

Tim laughs softly, his head resting on his beloved’s shoulder.

“The Lazarus runs in my veins?” he whispers, eyes meeting Damian’s.

“How on Earth was I supposed to explain to Father that drinking my blood would stabilize you otherwise?” the dragon huffs, steam blowing into the night.

Tim shakes his head.

“It was dangerous,” he says. “Zatanna could have discovered you.”

“You were hungry, I fed you.”

“You put yourself in unnecessary danger.”

“I didn’t want you to drink from those imbeciles.”

They stare at eachother for a moment, both sporting matching smiles.

“Jealous lizard,” Tim laughs.

“Flirty corpse,” Damian replies in amusement. “What will you tell Father?”

Tm closes his eyes.

“That while the Lazarus healed the infection it has slowed my aging until it stopped completely, a small price to pay for my eternal soul.”

“Hm,” Damian nods.

Tim’s thumb caresses the back of Damian’s hand, memorizing the feel of his skin under his hands once more.

“Are you happy… that I’m back?” he asks hesitantly.

“Are you happy to be back?” Damian asks back, face serious.

Tim shakes his head.

“Half of me is horrified, and mourns the adulthood I won’t experience once more,” he replies honestly. “That I will see everyone I love die and won’t be able to follow them.”

“And the other half?”

“The other half,” Tim smiles. “Is grateful for this second chance of staying by your side, that I will not leave you alone to your centuries.”

Damian wraps his arms around Tim’s slender waist, appreciating the way his older body fits so much better with his beloved’s.

“Half of me regrets that you were robbed of the life you deserved,” he mutters against Tim’s neck. “And half of me is grateful you found your way back to my side once more.”

“I promised, silly dragon,” Tim whispers, his own arms coming to rest around the dragon’s back. “I will always stay by your side, until time itself stops and the world crumbles to pieces and even then my soul shall follow yours to the other realm.”

Damian nods, sighs, and tightens his embrace.

The rest of the night will be spent in silence, each enjoying the feel of the other, the synchrony of their heartbeats and the taste of the other’s lips.

They will have spells to cast and stories to wave in the morning, people to trick and families to enjoy, but for now, the world belongs to the two of them.

And it’s enough. 


	6. Interlude: Forever.

The morning sun was dawning and its bright glare hurt his now delicate eyes as he found himself cursing his newly gained photosensitivity and the fact he had decided it would be a good idea to sleep in the gardens.

He sighed.

“Beloved,” he whispered into the morning air. “It’s morning, beloved.”

The other man huffed at him, steam rolling upwards from his nostrils as he grumbled sleepily.

Tim decided to admire his lover’s muscular frame, how his now adult body seemed to glow and emanate heat, how a fine dusting of black hair seemed to kiss the center of his chest.

Damian made a beautiful man, even a millennia after they had last seen eachother.

“You look at me as if I am a fine meal,” the dragon said suddenly, one of his golden eyes peeking from behind his long, black lashes.

“You are a most delicious sight,” Tim said with a small smile. “You will always make my mouth water, beloved.”

Damian snorted.

“You know you can feed off me if you need to, my little one,” he replied, slowly sitting up to lock his gaze with the vampire’s.

Tim laughed.

“I’d rather have my most handsome breaks awake and aware when I have my way with it.”

Damian’s pupils dilated.

“You flirty undead,” he growled, grapping his muscled arms around Tim’s naked waist, his nose sinking into the vampire’s hair. “I want to possess you again.”

“We have forever,” Tim reminded him.

“And I want forever now…” the dragon scowled, slowly pushing the vampire against the grass.

Tim rolled his eyes as his lover positioned himself over him before the sunlight made a bead of sweat glisten on Damian’s neck, catching his eye to redirect it to the faintly colored artery under his skin.

He felt his fangs poking his lower lip at the same time as he felt the dragon’s warm breath against his ear.

“Hungry, beloved?” Damian whispered, his voice smug.

Tim felt himself smirk.

“You cheater,” he hissed back, tangling both hands on his dark hair. “Don’t mind me then.”

“As you please.”

Tim’s fangs sank deep on the dragon’s neck, his eyes fluttering shut as hot, sweet, fresh blood hit the tip of his tongue ad forced a moan of pleasure from deep within his throat.

Damian’s blood was unlike anything the vampire had ever tasted, human or otherwise. It was molten heat and bittersweet ambrosia, life and power and love slowly seeping into his bones and enveloping him swallowing him whole.

It was as if the dragon was inside him, around him, marking him as his.

Damian ground their hips together with a growl, clawed hands tight on his cheeks to pull them impossibly closer together, all the while hissing and growling and snapping his razor sharp teeth against his skin.

“So beautiful, beloved, he said as he caressed the delicate shell of his ear with his forked tongue. “I’m never letting you leave me again. I’ll devour you whole before I allow you to be taken from me.”

“Yes!” Tim moaned back, fangs glinting red and wet in the sun.

A finger started teasing at his entrance, making delightful shivers run down his spin as the claw slightly scratched at his abused skin. The vampire’s own nails dug deep on the dragon’s shoulders as his lover, his other half, the owner of his beating heart finally sunk into him with an inhuman hiss of satisfaction.

“Mine,” Damian said. “All mine.”

“Forever, my own!” Tim agreed as he bucked under him, matching every single one of his thrusts with one of his own, even as he tried to continue lapping at the blood slowly leaking from his lover’s neck.

Their lovemaking wasn’t anything the humans would understand. It was wet and hot and violent, it was a thing of steam and claws and fangs, surrounded by the metallic scent of their shared blood and their animalistic growls of possession.

They consumed eachother with the single minded determination of those who have lived through the heartbreak of separation and feel the all-encompassing need to never experience it again.

Damian’s hand reached between them to stroke Tim’s cock in tandem with his thrusting, aiming with all his might to make them come at the same time.

Tim’s legs tightened around Damian’s waist, his body arching elegantly as he released his essence against their skin, a piercing roar of completion filling the air as he came.

They stayed in silence then, wrapped in eachother’s arms as they rode the last aftershocks of their shared orgasm, Damian’s tongue lapping at the beads of sweat lingering on the vampire’s chest, teasing his hard nipples and grinning as his lover protested weakly.

“Stop that,” Tim moaned, hand lightly slapping the dragon on one of his hard horns. “You’ll make me hard again.”

His lover snorted.

“I told you I want forever,” he snapped, his eyes narrowed wickedly. “The smell of your arousal is delicious.”

Tim laughed breathlessly.

“We’ve made quite a mess already, beloved,” he whispered as he watched the wound on his Damian’s neck magically heal.

The dragon raised an eyebrow.

“So?”

“So,” Tim said patiently. “If we make any more noise Bruce will think we are in danger and come to the rescue.”

Damian’s nose wrinkled at the thought.

“I don’t want him to see you like this,” he growled, his hold on his beloved tightening.

“Then let me get dressed,” Tim protested with a smile, his fingers carding over his lover’s hair. “In fact…”

“Baby Bird!” a voice called from around the trees just as Jason made his way into their secluded patch of the Manor’s gardens, guns at the ready, eyes narrowed and ready for a fight. “Are you two o-“

His intentions were good, Tim knew, he most likely was only worried for their safety and quite distraught because of the noises and the smell and the growls. He was sure Jason could out-worry Dick at his very best and today would not be the exception.

Which was the reason why the vampire instantly grabbed his beloved’s head, hands firm on his cheeks as he redirected his enraged roar – and the burst of fire that was coming from his snarling mouth – away from the young human in order to give him a fighting chance.

“What the fuck!” Jason cried as he managed to jump out of the way with only a few singed hairs and a few shades of pallor on his skin. Blinded, if only for a second, as he shielded his face from the heat. “Baby Bird! Demon Brat?!”

“Here, Jason!” Tim called back, smoothing his shirt over his torso and thanking his new strength and speed. “Are you okay?”

“What the fuck was that!” the young man asked, his eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” Tim smiled shyly. “Damian and I were testing a few landmines and you managed to stand on one?”

Jason stared at his adoptive brothers, his cheeks flushing in anger as the two of them stared at him in sheepish innocence – well, Tim, really, Damian looked as sullen as usual, quite murderous – their hands together as they pretended to be the good little boys he knew they were not.

“Alfie is gonna kill you two when he sees the mess,” he said simply, leaving whatever punishment these two deserved to Alfred’s tender graces as it was the custom in the Manor. “Breakfast’s ready.”

“Great!” Tim beamed, his smile small and still tender as usual. “Damian’s famished, aren’t you?”

The younger teen growled at them both, something alien and ironic in his gaze.

“Always,” he said as he tightened his hold on Tim’s hand and started to drag him away and back to the house.

Jason shook his head, feeling a little fond of those two as he followed.

Behind them, a tree fell, still smoking and charred.


End file.
